Just North of Weird
by WalrusOfDestiny
Summary: A collection of short stories and drabbles about Gravity Falls. Romance, angst, comedy, it runs the gambit here. End of show spoilers ahead, so be wary.
1. Mabel's Guide to Party-Crashing

Pacifica listlessly played with her phone, music playing in her ears to cover up the sounds of the general chatter a floor beneath her. It was the annual gala at her mansion, and, for the fourth year in a row, she was grounded in her room. Save the lives of some of the world's most influential people, and you're banned from a party because a bunch of "commoners" messed up the fork angles. It didn't really matter, she supposed. She had long since stopped seeing eye-to-eye with her parents, and quite frankly, the party would have been lame anyway.

As her phone was transitioning songs, however, she started hearing screaming from the floor below. She immediately sat up. Was the ghost back? Or was it another equally-vengeful ghost? That was very possible. She dashed to the door, ready to help people if need be, when a sharp, furious rapping came from behind her. She turned around to see Mabel Pines frantically knocking on her window, smiling like a kid on Christmas.

"Pacifica! Can you see me?! I'm here! I'm at your window! Open the window! Pacifica! Pacifica!"

Pacifca stood still, both to recover from the sight of seeing her girlfriend a solid thirty feet higher than she should be, and to see just how long Mabel would keep it up. After a solid five minutes of Mabel informing her where she was, Pacifica decided that it was probably cold out there. She opened the window, and Mabel effortlessly climbed into the room.

"Didja see me?" she asked excitedly, putting "Ol' Grapply" on her bedside table. Pacifica did her best to ignore how disgusting that thing probably was at this point.

"Mabel, you do know how windows work, right?" Pacifica asked. That was a dumb question, but you could never be quite sure with Mabel Pines.

"Of course I do!" Mabel laughed. "I mean, I didn't when I was younger, but nowadays I just do it because I think it's hilarious."

Pacifica sighed. Figured. "Well, I'm glad you're here. There's something we should deal with downstairs, so-"

"Oh don't worry, Dipper's got it it covered."

"What do you mean Dipper's got it- Wait," Pacifica narrowed her eyes. "What did you two do?"

"We certainly didn't convince an army of gnomes to help us break into your mansion, if _that's_ what you're implying."

Pacifica's jaw dropped. "Mabel, please tell me there aren't a bunch of gnomes running around the foyer right now."

"Foyer," Mabel mused. "That's such a fun word. Foyer."

"Mabel!"

"It's so boooorriing today!" Mabel whined, plopping down onto Pacifica's bed. "And today was the day of the party, so I asked Dipper for some help, and here we are! Now everyone's happy!"

Pacifica rubbed her temples. "Using an army of fantastical creatures to break into someone else's house is never acceptable, no matter how bored you are. You two are completely insane," she said, joining Mabel on the bed regardless.

Mabel sat up. "Yeah? You know what else is insane… -ly fun?"

"What?" Pacifica asked.

"Tickle fights!" she squealed, tackling Pacifica to the bed.

Pacifica didn't consider herself a very ticklish person, but her girlfriend also took tickle fights alarmingly seriously. Pacifica couldn't help squealing with laughter as Mabel mercilessly tickled her ribs, simultaneously maintaining some sort of wrestling hold on her so she couldn't escape. After a few minutes of Mabel's unending reign, Pacifica decided that she actually needed a breath. She tapped Mabel's shoulder twice, and she immediately relented. Pacifica sat back up again, wheezing a little bit. "Going to need a break from tickle fights for a bit."

"That's cool. I can think of something else we can do besides tickle fights," Mabel said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Pacifica laughed and bopped her on the head. "No. Bad Mabel. We are not doing it when someone could come check up on me."

Mabel gave her an admittedly adorable pouty face, but as the responsible one in the relationship, Pacifica resisted. "You can go down and join the party if you like," Pacifica offered. "I'm sure there's still some of the chocolate fondue left for you to devour."

Mabel stared at her with a weird look. "What?" Pacifica demanded.

"You are so _cute_ sometimes!"

This was probably the most surprising statement of the night for Pacifica. "Excuse me?"

"I didn't come here 'cuz I wanted to go to a fancy party, stupid! I came 'cuz I wanted to hang out with you! That's way funner than any party."

Pacifica decided to stare out the window at that point. "Shut up. I'm not the stupid one."

"Awww, are you blushing? I wanna see!"

"No!" she denied, keeping her face away from Mabel's view.

"If you're not going to face me, that just means I get to braid your hair," Mabel sang.

Pacifica sighed. She just couldn't win. Her stupid, adorable, tickle-fighting, hair-braiding girlfriend was too much for her. But, quite frankly, she wouldn't have it any other way.


	2. Stanley Pines' Second First Thanksgiving

Stanley Pines looked out at the infinite stretch of ocean before him, a sight he had gotten used to these past few weeks. "Hey, Sixer," he asked his compatriot. "How long d'you think it'll take to get back to the states from here?"

Stanford Pines, knowing his twin brother as well as he did, (You understand a person once you've been on a small boat with them for weeks on end.) simply asked a question. "Oregon or California?"

"California."

"Miss the kids that much already?"

"A little," Stan admitted. "But I need to go there for a different reason."

"And what could that be?" Ford asked.

"It's November, Poindexter! Thanksgiving?"

"That is in November, yes," Ford responded, clueless as to where this was going.

"Yeesh, you're really out of touch, and that's coming from me. All the Pines have a shindig at Shermy's place over in Piedmont every Thanksgiving."

"Wait, the entire family eats Thanksgiving dinner together?" Ford asked.

"Of course. That's what Thanksgiving is, moron," Stan mocked. "Why, what would we do?"

"Pops would buy a frozen turkey on the way home, Ma would cook it, and we'd eat the leftovers for two days," Ford responded.

"Oh," Stan recalled. "Oh yeah, starting to remember a little." He made a face.

"Sorry to be bearer of bad news," Ford said.

Stan waved his hand. "Nah, me and McGucket had a talk about the memory thing. He said it was better to remember all of it, makes it easier to be who you once were. It's just, wow, my childhood was miserable."

"McGucket and I," Ford corrected, opting to not reflect on their less than stellar adolescence.

"Now, _that_ I remember," Stan grumbled. "Anyway, it's vital that I'm there. I'm the life of every Thanksgiving. Without me, it wouldn't be close to the same."

"I highly doubt that," Ford murmured, loud enough for Stan to hear.

"You are really pushing it today, Sixer," Stan proclaimed, chuckling. He had missed this. Things were finally different between him and his brother. He and Ford had spent all summer trading insults, but now they were finally… trading insults. Huh. So it wasn't different, okay, but it was better, much better.

"Well, according to the calculations I just did in my head," Ford announced. "We should get you there just in time for Thanksgiving."

"Perfect! I can't wait to see the kids, and Shermy, and, uh... uhmm..."

Stan and Ford looked at each other. They had a problem.

* * *

"Stanford! What a surprise to see you! The kids told us you were going on a cruise around the world!"

"Haha, you know me! I would never miss Thanksgiving!"

Dipper and Mabel looked at each other in shock. Grunkle Stan should be with Ford somewhere cool and adventurous, but that was definitely his voice they were hearing. They peeked out into the driveway to see what was definitely their Grunkle Stan. "Grunkle Stan!" they cheered, dashing out to greet their great uncle.

"Hey, kids!" he cheered, wrapping his arms around them as they barreled into him. "How are my two favorite pain in the necks?"

"We're doing great!" Mabel responded. "What are you doing here?!"

"I'm not gonna miss Thanksgiving!" Stan chuckled. "Now c'mon, how about you come with me to a nice, isolated part of the house so we can catch up?"

Their parents looked at each other apprehensively while Dipper and Mabel laughed. "Yeah," Dipper agreed. "We want to hear about how you've been too. Let's go to our room!"

hey started dragging him by the sleeves. Stan turned back to their parents. "Sorry, I'll talk to you guys later. Great seein' ya!"

Mr. Pines turned towards his wife. "Did you get the sense he forgot our names?"

Mrs. Pines shook her head. "You're just being paranoid."

"I literally have no idea who those people were," Stan informed the kids in the safety of their room.

"What? You don't remember Mom and Dad?" Mabel asked, shocked. "You did get your memory back, right? Wait was that a dream? Please tell me it wasn't a dream."

"It wasn't a dream, kiddo," Stan placated. "But I only got my memories of Ford and you squirts back. Everything else..." He made a 'poof' gesture with his hands. "Totally not there."

"What? Why did you even bother coming to a gathering where you don't know anyone?" Dipper asked.

"Because, I remember seeing you two every Thanksgiving, and knowing me, I'm the life of the party! I had to come! But now," he lamented, shoulders sagging. "I'm just some shmuck who can't even remember his own family. They'll all think I've got Alzheimer's or something."

"Hey, don't worry, sure your head's empty, but hey, what else is new?" Dipper consoled him. "We can help you out. You just need to stick with us, we'll help you through conversations and stuff, and hopefully you'll regain some of your memories."

"Yeah!" Mabel cheered. "We brought back some of them, we can bring back the rest!"

Stan smiled. "Thanks you two. Ol' Stanley Pines isn't down and out yet!" His stomach groaned. "Oooph, okay, a little down and out. Had cheap train station food for breakfast, and it is not agreeing with me. Where's the bathroom?"

"End of the hallway," Dipper responded. Stan nodded and hurried out the room.

Mabel turned to Dipper. "Why does he think he's here every Thanksgiving?" she asked worriedly.

"Well, he said that he remembers seeing us at Thanksgiving, which he has, and he's also seen us at different stages in our lives, so maybe his brain just jumbled that together to mean that's he's been here every Thanksgiving," Dipper postulated. "How are we going to break the news?"

"We aren't going to," Mabel decided. "We're going to help him get along with everyone, and he's not going to be any the wiser."

"You're not telling him the whole truth? I thought lying was morally wrong," Dipper teased.

"Grunkle Stan's happiness is way more important than some obituary morals," Mabel insisted.

"Arbitrary morals," Dipper corrected.

"Whatever. The point is, we make sure Grunkle Stan has the best Thanksgiving ever! Deal?" she asked, holding out her fist.

"Deal," Dipper agreed, bumping it.

Thanksgiving went smoothly from then on. Some of the family found it odd that Dipper and Mabel suddenly seemed very interested in reminiscing about past family events, and that Stanford never seemed to leave their side, but none of them questioned it. It was certainly better than the last Thanksgiving Stanford attended, so they all kept the peace. That is, until Aunt Margaret started chatting with the trio.

"Aunt Margaret!" Mabel greeted her, with less enthusiasm than she was known for. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing quite fine, Mabel," Aunt Margaret replied. "How is school?"

"Oh, y'know… Good."

"And you, Dipper?"

Dipper coughed into his hand. "Uh, pretty tough. 7th grade is hard, you know, preparing for high school, and stuff."

Aunt Margaret smiled. "Always so modest, Dipper. Your parents tell me that you're doing quite well. Good for you."

Stan, immediately seeing this lady's game, felt the urge to defend his favorite niece. "Well, you know how Mabel is," he interjected. "Always making something new. Heck, she managed to make a perfect wax statue of me in less than a week. If you ask me, she can afford to flunk a history test or two."

Aunt Margaret pursed her lips. "I suppose that is one way of looking at it, yes," she replied.

Stan laughed. "Take it from me, being a braniac isn't worth much if you can't make people happy. Mabel's got that down pat."

"Oh, thanks for the encouragement, Grunkle Stan," Dipper joked, smiling. Mabel laughed.

Stan noogied him affectionately. "Relax, there's hope for you yet, slick."

Aunt Margaret watched the three interact tersely. "You know, Stanford," she interjected. "It is positively _delightful_ to see you sober."

"Whazzat mean?" Stan asked, confused. He couldn't even remember the last time he had gotten drunk.

"Oh, Grunkle Stan, have you seen our room yet?!" Dipper intervened.

"That's right, you haven't!" Mabel played along. "Let's go check it out right now!"

They quickly dragged a very confused Stan back to their room. Once there, they shut the door behind them, and Stan sat down on Dipper's bed. "Alright, you two," he said, crossing his arms. "What's going on here?"

"Leave it to Aunt Margaret to ruin everything," Dipper complained.

"Grunkle Stan, you know how you think you come to Thanksgiving often?" Mabel began, rubbing her foot into the ground. "You actually have only been to Thanksgiving once."

"What?"

"And it was kind of a trainwreck," Dipper continued. "Like, a 'our parents had to explain the concept of drunk people to us afterwards' trainwreck."

"You drank all of the beers," Mabel finished. "Even I didn't think your jokes were funny."

Stan frowned. Did he really do that? Drinking that much wasn't like him… but the "him" he knew was one that had had two kids around him for most of his remembered life.

"We're really sorry, Grunkle Stan," Mabel apologized. "We just wanted you to have a happy Thanksgiving."

"Yeah," Dipper agreed. "We wanted to replace your bad memories with good ones."

Stan sighed. "Thank you, kids, really, but come here. Grunkle Stan's got some old-timer wisdom for ya."

Dipper and Mabel glanced at each other, and walked over to Grunkle Stan. He put a hand on their shoulders. "Listen kids, bad memories are good for you. Sure, they stink, and sure, you regret them, but they help you grow, help you change yourself. Always accept them, because they're who you are. Don't be ashamed of yourselves. Acknowledge the past and try to change the future. Speaking of which," he grimaced. "I've got a lot of people who I need to convince that I'm not an alcoholic. Better late than never, I suppose." He got up. "C'mon you two. We need to brainstorm things we can brag to your stuffy Aunt Margaret about."

"Oh, can we use Grunkle Ford's accomplishments too?" Dipper asked. "You are technically him, after all."

"I'm liking the way you're thinking," Stan approved. "I'm sure he won't mind. Probably."

Thanksgiving went much better after that. With the stories under his belt, and Dipper and Mabel to vouch for/guide/censor him, Stan managed to change his image from crazy drunk uncle to a scientist who was surprisingly good with kids, if not a little rough around the edges. As the night wore on, Stan knew that it would be best if he headed off back to the Stan O' War. Mabel and Dipper walked him out of the house to the taxi he had called.

"Bye, Grunkle Stan," Mabel said, a little somberly. "We'll miss you!"

"Tell Great-uncle Ford we said hello," Dipper said.

Grunkle Stan nodded. "Something wrong, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked.

"Look, kids, I've been thinking about it a lot, today especially, and it seems, I don't know, it's starting to occur to me that my life was pretty miserable before you two showed up for the summer, so I just- I wanted to… Ah, y'know what, just take this," he blurted out, quickly shoving two bills into their hands, and then hopping into the taxi, telling the driver to step on it.

Mabel and Dipper stared at the bills in their hand. "Dipper," Mabel asked. "Did Grunkle Stan just give us each $50?"

Dipper nodded, mutely. They stood there, simply awestruck. $50 was an impressive amount for any 13 year-old to hold in their hands, but that wasn't the reason. It was the man who had given them the money that was the shock. Stanley Pines was cheap. He hoarded his money carefully, to the point that they had shared one diner meal between them for three months straight. Yet, he had just given them three digits worth of money. "Yeesh, Grunkle Stan needs to learn how to say 'I love you'. Big dummy," Mabel said, sniffling a little.

Dipper nodded. "What should we do with it? Secret box behind the wall in honor of him?"

"You're not going to put in a savings account? That doesn't sound very responsible of you," Mabel teased.

Dipper shrugged. "Sometimes you gotta do the stupid stuff."

Mabel laughed. "Heck yeah you do! I get to make the hole!" she cheered, sprinting back to the house.

"You know Dad's not going to trust you with the power tools again!" Dipper called out to her, trying to catch up. And so, the sun fell on what had been the best Thanksgiving, so far as three members of the Pines family could remember. And for two others, it was the second worst. Fixing a pipe that your daughter accidentally jammed a drill into is no easy task.


	3. The Hero's Ballad

Dipper stepped out of his car. It was a warm day in Oregon, sunny and cheerful. He reflected on the brutal irony, and found he wasn't appreciative of it one bit. He walked over the hot asphalt of the parking lot, slowly making his way to the double doors of the hospital, wishing with every step that this parking lot could stretch forever. How nice would that be? He wouldn't have to deal with what awaited him inside. As his hand pressed against the hot metal plate of the door, however, he grimaced. The parking lot did not give him any solace from the day's events. Reality ensued.

He stepped into the AC-created atmosphere of the hospital. "Hello what can I do for you today?" the girl at the counter chirped.

"I'm here for a visit," he responded. "Stan Pines, Room 618."

She clicked a couple times on her computer screen. Dipper briefly wondered what sort of interface hospitals had on their computers that allowed for such convenient record-checking, but brushed the thought aside. It didn't matter right now.

"Alright, you're all clear!" she informed him in a tone that made him think she used phrases like 'peachy-keen' liberally. "Just sign here and you'll be on your way!"

He scribbled out his chicken-scratch signature on the paper and went on his way. He hated customer service people. They were always too cheery. He knew that they were told to be, but that girl could clearly see that he was miserable. Couldn't she just have a little tact? He guessed that wasn't fair to her though. Miserable people were the norm in a hospital. She couldn't be expected to be miserable for the sake of every person that walked through those doors.

He walked through the hospital, trying his best to ignore the silent, joyless atmosphere of the hospital. Or maybe he was just projecting. He couldn't tell at this point. He just knew he hated the hospital. He didn't want to be here. He kept walking until he saw something he didn't hate. His great-uncle Ford. Ford saw him before he got close enough to say anything. He stood up. "It's great to see you, Dipper," he smiled.

Dipper did not think he had ever seen a more broken smile. His great-uncle had always been on the healthy side, but looking at him now, you'd think he hadn't eaten or slept in a week. Dipper wondered if he actually had. They shared a tight hug. "Great to see you too, Grunkle Ford," he muttered. They broke apart. "How is- how is he?" Dipper choked up.

"Better, once he sees you," Ford said. "But, doctors said that all we can do now is make sure he's comfortable."

Dipper blinked back tears. He had known that, had read the email 80 times over, but he still didn't like it. "Where's Mabel?"

"Getting us food. She insisted I eat something, and knew you'd be much the same way."

Dipper nodded. He hadn't really been in an eating mood the ride up here. "So, I guess I'll..."

Ford nodded, stepping aside to give him a path to the door. He took a deep breath. He was not ready for this. He would never be ready for this. He pushed the door open anyway. He walked into the white room. It was deathly quiet. No, bad analogy, Brain. Bad analogy. He stepped past the curtain that was in-between him and the bed to see his great-uncle, hooked to up to a bunch of machines that did God-knows-what. If he thought Grunkle Ford looked terrible, Grunkle Stan was indescribable. Breathing through a tube, the worst kind of pale, and looking tired as all hell, Dipper found his voice was stuck in his throat.

"Yeesh, kid. Quit looking at me like that. You're being even more of a downer than usual."

Dipper was brought back to reality by his grunkle's regular insults. He sat down at the bedside chair. "You know, Grunkle Stan, I'm really not a kid anymore."

"Neither am I. Turns out, eating ice cream for dinner when you're 80 gives you heart attacks. Who would have guessed, am I right?" Stan asked, giving a weak chuckle. Dipper kept silent. "Wow. 0 for 2 on that one. Bet Blondie would have laughed."

Dipper smiled at that. "I can promise you she wouldn't. She doesn't actually hate you, you know."

"Coulda fooled me. How is she though? Keeping her away from guitar players?"

Dipper chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. She's doing really well. She's at some sort of charity thing right now, but she'll be here tomorrow."

"Good, good. So, how have you been? Doctors won't let me watch the Guide to the Unexplained in here. Apparently I get too wound up, so I'm out of the loop."

"We're all doing as good as ever. That old Victorian house was actually haunted, and this next place we're looking into seems promising."

Stan frowned. "Ugh, I bet Ford fifty bucks it wouldn't be. Mind keeping that a secret between the two of us?"

"Sure, Grunkle Stan."

"Thanks kid. I'll add it to your part of the will."

Dipper tensed up. Grunkle Stan had officially broken the ice on the reason they were both here.

"This is probably the last time time I'm ever going to be alone in a room with you, isn't it?" Dipper asked.

"Not a fan of your chances," Stan acknowledged.

"Well,," Another deep breath. That seemed to be the only kind he was taking lately. "I've got something I kind of wanna get off my chest, if you don't mind."

"I ain't going anywhere."

Dipper wrung his hands. "I've been thinking a lot, about what I'd say right now. Like, you know, you and I never really see eye-to-eye, and I've never really been as close to you as I could've been, and sometimes your jokes get on my nerves, but… I just wanted you to know…" He struggled to figure what to say. Dammit, he had practiced this time and time again on the way up here. He could feel his eyes water up. His emotions were getting the better of him. You know what? That was the point. He could toss aside male pride for a couple seconds. Grunkle Stan deserved at least that much.

"Thank you so much for being alive, Grunkle Stan."

Well, he broke the dam. He could feel everything he was thinking and feeling welling up. "Thank you for taking us in that summer, thank you for saving my life, thank you for teaching me how to be a real man, thank you for helping me out with Wendy and Pacifica, thanks for playing cards, for the hat, for..." Oh, he was sobbing now. He hadn't cried once since he heard the news, but it was coming down now. "Thanks for talking to me, thanks for listening to me, thank you so, so, much. For everything."

As he stared down at his hands, crying his eyes out, that hidden wish that he had kept in the back of his head came out along with the tears. "Please don't die," he whispered. It was stupid, asking the impossible of a man on his death bed. Yet, he couldn't help it. This was the man who had saved his life more times than he could count. The man who had fought off a horde of zombies, who had punched out a pterodactyl, who had restarted an inter-dimensional portal just to save his brother. The man who had taught a bear to drive, who had swung an election despite having no platform. The man who had vanquished an omniscient demon. The man who had noogied him and taught him life lessons. The man who taught him to talk to girls, who sat with him sipping Pitt Cola when the conversations inevitably turned sour. The man who was unarguably his hero. If there was anyone who could do it, who could cheat death and live forever, it was his Grunkle Stan.

After a few moments of silently crying into his lap, he looked at how his grunkle had reacted. Dipper saw something he had never seen before. Stanley Pines was openly weeping. "Y'know, kid," Stan said. "I really wish I had practiced saying 'Thank you' at some point, 'cuz now I don't know how to do it. Ugh, I feel like Ford." He laughed to himself before resuming seriousness. "Before I met you two, I always kind of figured my life had been one big mistake. My birth wasn't planned, I never did any good for anyone, hell, I screwed up my own brother's life pretty badly, but then, I met you two, and I thought you little squirts might be the best thing that ever happened to me, but I was always worried that I wasn't doing you two any good either. Now you're here telling me that my life meant something after all, and it's just-" He broke down sobbing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just, thanks for telling me that. It, it, really means a lot."

They sat there, crying for longer than they cared to admit. "As for that last bit," Stan said. "Sorry, kid, but I don't think I can cheat death much longer. But, y'know, I think I just figured out that that doesn't matter. The life I lived, everything I did, it all lead up to this. It all lead up to me meeting you and Mabel, and that all lead up to me sitting here, and being told the one thing I needed to hear. It was a good life. I mean, y'know, not objectively good, but if it caused kids like you and Mabel to love a guy like me, then it was the best damn life I could ask for. Now, come here, I got a hug I need to give."

Dipper leaned over and hugged his great-uncle for what would be the last time. He could feel his shoulder getting wet. He supposed they were even, then. "I love you, Dipper," Stan muttered. "I'm only gonna say it once, so don't forget it."

If Dipper hadn't been crying for the past several minutes, he probably would've started crying harder when he heard that. "I won't. I love you too, Grunkle Stan."

They sat there like that for a long time. Eventually, Stan broke the hug. "Alright, two manly studs like us probably shouldn't be huggin' and cryin' so much. We've got our images to uphold. I'm sure your sister's back by now. You should go see her. I think I'm going to take a nap."

"Yeah, gotcha." Dipper nodded. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay by Grunkle Stan until the bitter end, but Grunkle Stan knew better than he did. He had a sister to see, food to eat, things to do. Time never stopped ticking, and Grunkle Stan had been mature enough to accept that. He had to follow suit. He got up to leave. The moment he did so, he realized something. He realized what it meant to "have someone in your heart". He had always thought it was some malarky to help little kids deal with their favorite character's death in a movie, but that wasn't it. Grunkle Stan would always be in his heart, because Grunkle Stan had changed his heart. The life he lived, the way he looked at the world, the things he had done, all of that had been influenced by Grunkle Stan. He and the Mystery Shack had been an impetus that had directed Dipper down the course of his life, a force that would carry Dipper through his life as long as he lived. As he walked out of the room, and into the arms of his sister, he vowed to keep that force going for as long as he could. Stanley Pines would cheat death, one way or another.


	4. Dotted With a Heart

Pacifica Northwest was faced with a dire conundrum. It was moving day, they were going to move to a nice little villa on the other side of town. They were relocating to a place where they couldn't ignore the masses, where, no longer insanely rich, they might actually improve as a family, but still, it was a terrible day. This was the day she had to choose only one pony to come with her. She had been pushing it back and pushing it back, but the time had come. She had to make a decision. She stared at the four ponies in front of her: Delilah, Buttercup, Starlight, and Alexander the Great. The ponies she had brushed, fed treats to, ridden around the grounds with, all of them were her loyal steeds, trusted companions, and now she had to send all but one away.

"Deciding which ponies to leave behind for the move?" a voice behind her asked. "That must be rough. They all look like they love you."

Pacifica whirled around to see a girl with her hands in her pockets strolling across her lawn. "Wendy!" she gasped.

"Hey," Wendy replied breezily. "How's it hanging?"

"Oh, uhm, good, good," Pacifica said. "Do… do you know about horses?"

Wendy laughed. "I was obsessed with them when I was your age. Went to a horseback riding camp over summer a couple years ago. I got the gist of it there," she said, holding her hand out to Buttercup's snout, who immediately yielded to her. Pacifica's eyes widened. Buttercup had always been picky about other people, but hadn't thrown anything resembling a fit when Wendy touched her. How?

"So, hate to make the day harder, but I need a favor," Wendy said.

"A favor? From me?" Pacifica asked.

"Yeah," Wendy said, taking a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and handing it to her.

Pacifica unfolded it and gave it a look. In the middle was a big note that said "See you next summer". Surrounding it were a bunch of signatures, some Pacifica recognized as her fellow apocalypse survivors, others she assumed were people they knew from beforehand. "I figured I'd make a going away present for Dipper. Getting all his friends to sign off on it."

"Oh, right," Pacifica frowned. She had been so caught up in moving that she had lost track of the days Tomorrow was her new friends' final day in Gravity Falls. As the sadness and anxiousness crept back up to her, she decided to focus on the other thing she said. "Just to Dipper?" she asked.

"Yeah. Dipper's always been insecure about where he stands with other people. Figured this might be a good pick-me-up for him," Wendy replied, shrugging her shoulders.

Pacifica stared back down at the paper. What an incredibly sweet gesture. Certainly she would never thought about it. "You two are really close," she noted, unsure of how that made her feel.

Wendy rubbed the back of her head. "Yeah, I mean, we've done a lot of stuff this summer. Figured I owed him this much."

Pacifica nodded mutely. She would have given a response, but she was suddenly feeling odd. She looked up at Wendy. It felt like she had gotten a lot bigger, while Pacifica had only gotten smaller. It was strange to think about it, that her two friends had friends who they were so much closer to than they were to her. Dipper was her friend, but it wasn't like she was his only one. He probably didn't give her too much thought throughout the day… Not that she thought about him often, of course.

She looked down at the paper again. By the looks of it, she was one of the last signatures Wendy was getting. She just wasn't that close to any of them. She, Pacifica Northwest, most popular girl ever, was a secondary friend. Wendy had gotten him something that would make him happy and emotionally secure. She had gotten him a DVD box set of Ghost Harrassers, because that was one of the few things she knew about him. That thought did not make her feel comfortable.

Pacifica took her pen out of her favorite pink marker out of her pocket (kept there on the off-chance she ever needed to sign an autograph), pressed the paper against the wall of the stable, and quickly scribbled her signature. As she went back to dot the 'i', she paused. She wasn't his close friend, but she wanted to be friends. Friends with him like Wendy was, but she wasn't about to say that in writing, so, on impulse, she decided to quickly scribble a heart over the 'i'. She handed it back to Wendy, who looked at it and smiled.

"Glad to see he's in good hands," Wendy remarked.

"What's that mean?" Pacifica asked.

"Dipper's the kind of kid who's always going to have it rough with romance. I'm glad that he's caught the eye of a girl who's willing to dive into a omnipotent demon's lair to help her friends. Things are looking up for him already."

"I don't- I mean-" Pacifica stuttered, unsure of which part of that sentence to focus on first.

Wendy chuckled and turned back to head down the path. "Don't worry about it. I'll see you soon, Paz," she said, walking away.

Pacifica watched Wendy Corduroy, the coolest girl she would probably ever meet walk away.

"Paz," she repeated to herself. "I like it."


	5. Love Thy Neighbor (Part 1)

Pacifica Northwest was not enjoying her lunch. The food was fine, she supposed. The service had been quite good thus far. The aesthetic of the place, some sort of emulation of a British pub, wasn't really her thing but it's not like it detracted from the experience, and it did offer a sort of uniqueness to it that at least made the place memorable. No, what was bothering her was her company, or at the very least, two members of her company.

Pacifica prided herself on being successful in life. She was highly intelligent, extremely attractive, excellent with people, and came from a highly affluent background with the greatest resources and connections at her fingertips. All of these factors combined would naturally imply that she would be much more successful than anybody in her age group. This is why, when she split from the family business to join a major fashion company in New York immediately after college, she assumed she would have little to no issue becoming a standout employee. The girl sitting across from her, much to her irritation, seemed steadfast in proving her otherwise.

Mabel Pines, with her intrinsically kind nature, perky demeanor, and dimples that seemed almost cartoon-like, was very much liked around the office. Her clothing ideas were clearly built for a very niche consumer base that offered minimal in terms of attracting customers on a large scale, and simply pandered to the desires of the masses rather than blaze a new trail for fashion, but it would technically make a net profit, so the superiors, enamored with her can-do attitude, decided to run with it. Mabel Pines had created a line of clothes at the age of 26, before Pacifica had even gotten past the "valued suggestions" phase. To add insult to injury, as well as to provide the reason why she was so irritated with this lunch, her brother seemed to be just as successful.

The reason she and a motley of the younger members and interns had gathered together at the restaurant was because Mabel's brother was apparently the author of some incredible fantasy series. Some of the girls and guys were huge fans, so a lunch had been organized. She had been invited, and, unwilling to let Mabel's influence grow without her at least being there, had accepted. So here she was, across the table from a famous author and a fashion line designer, both her age. She did not like the feeling of inadequacy that that thought provided.

"Oh my gosh, I know I've said this before, but it is _really_ cool to meet you. How come you've never done a signing in New York?" Dom, one of the interns, gushed.

The author laughed and scratched the back of his head. "I'm actually pretty shy. I'm not much for people recognizing me on the street, so I try to avoid publicity stunts when I can, especially if it's local."

Pacifica analyzed him. "Shy" was an understatement. This guy seemed like a total shut-in. Weird name aside, (Who the hell named their kid "Dipper"?) he had bags under his eyes, ghostly pale skin, and she assumed that his hair was just as unkempt as the rest of him. She couldn't tell, because he wore a beanie, with one curly bang sticking out awkwardly and covering most of his forehead. His clothes were very clearly bought with cheapness in mind. She might have actually mistaken him for a homeless person had they not been introduced.

"What's going on, Pazaroo?" Mabel asked. "Stunned into silence by my brother?"

Dipper laughed, as if that statement could only be interpreted as a joke. Well, at least he was humble. In contrast… "No, Mabel, I'm just trying to figure out how you two are related. You seem very different for twins."

Mabel laughed. "We get that a lot. What can I say? He got the brains, and I got everything else."

"Especially the modesty," Dipper added.

Pacifica chuckled at that. So he was at least decent in a conversation. "So, Mr. Author, are you one of those Salinger types who lives his life as a hermit? Isolated cabin in the woods? I've been led to believe that's where all authors live," she remarked.

Dipper stared at her in surprise, then his lips curled into a smile, like he was the only one privy to a joke. "Yeah, something like that. Gotta inconvenience my editor however I can."

Dom laughed at the joke that wasn't remotely funny. Pacifica found this interesting. Mabel's people skills blinded her company to her lackluster professional ability. Her brother's professional ability blinded others to his lackluster people skills. They really were opposites. She wasn't too fond of that smirk of his though. Smirking at someone else's ignorance was supposed to be her job.

"So when's your next book coming out?" Becca, one of her coworkers asked.

"Not allowed to say," Dipper responded. "But I'll let you in on a trade secret. If an author says that, it means they have no idea either."

The lunch continued like that, with most of them asking Dipper book questions, and Mabel dragging her into the conversation every now and then. Eventually, their lunch break ended, and they had to get back to the office. "What'd you think Pazimodo? He's a weirdo, isn't he?" Mabel asked, as he and their group walked in opposite directions.

"Agreed. You two do have that in common," Pacifica observed.

Mabel laughed. "Yeah we do!"

Pacifica added "Impossible to insult, solely because it bounces off of her" to the list of reasons Mabel Pines got under her skin. After that, the day went as normal. She did her work, left when all the work she could do was done, and then she took the bus, and went home to her cold, empty apartment, and then either watch TV sketch dresses, or read until she fell asleep. She supposed this was her main problem with adult life, the monotony of it all. In high school or college, friends were always doing some wild or crazy thing, and it was very easy to hang out and talk, and to meet people if you didn't like the current crew. Being an adult, however, was pretty much spending time in two places: your workplace or your house. If you didn't like your coworkers, which for the most part, she didn't, tough luck. She supposed she could strike up an interaction with her neighbor, but she was almost positive she didn't have one. Her neighbor in the apartment to her right was an art gallery for some rich person down on Parkway. The neighbor to her left, she was pretty sure that apartment was empty. She had never heard a peep from that apartment. Either no one lived there or they had been dead for months. So she spent everyday in loneliness, driven only by her desire to succeed. Not that it ever bothered her. She had long since been used to that. She wasn't going to let it get to her now.

* * *

It was the little things in life that got to you, because it was the little things that you didn't expect. Pacifica decided this was a universal truth somewhere in the midst of her third drink. It had been a week since she had met whats-his-face the author. Earlier that day, she and Mabel had been walking down the hall together, and their boss walked by. They both said "Hello", and their boss greeted them back. She greeted Mabel, a nice smile on her face, then, when she greeted Pacifica, the smile dwindled. That had been the breaking point. She needed a drink or two or several. So here she was, drinking away her sorrows like the sad, lonely girl she was. Great. She had even hit self-deprecation. She felt that elicited one more drink.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Pacifica found herself staring at a door. It looked an awful lot like her door, and she had strong reason to believe it was, given the fact that she had been trying to go home from the bar. The only problem was that she couldn't quite remember how doors worked. She felt like it involved the specific use of one hand, but the actual technique required escaped her.

"Door, open," she commanded. Then she giggled to herself. As she was laughing, she realized the door wasn't laughing, which was a shame, because it had been a good joke. "It's funny," she informed the door. "Because I told you to open, but you can't hear anything so it was pointless."

The door swung open. Pacifica reeled back in shock, first at the discovery that she was in fact a wizard, then pulled back in again when she realized that somebody else opened the door. Then reeled back again once she realized who was there. Standing before her, light glowing behind him like he was an awkward, lanky, and a little bit smelly angel, was none other than What's-his-name.

"Umm, correct me if I'm wrong here, but did you just try to explain to my door why it was funny that it's inanimate?"

Pacifica pointed at him. "You're the Author," she gasped.

"Yup, that's me. Glad we had this talk," he responded, closing the door.

She put her foot out, stopping the door from closing shut. "Rude," she chastised. "You can't leave a girl like me drunk on the streets. Who knows what will happen?"

Dipper made a big show of looking down the hallway. "Well, I've checked all five feet between our houses, and I think you're safe. Maybe."

She stamped her foot. "Would you just let me stay here for a little bit?!"

"You thought this was your house five seconds ago. You don't even remember my name. Heck, you didn't even know I was your neighbor. We are not close enough that me letting you into my house at 11 o'clock at night will be a thing that happens."

"I know that, but then I realized my house is shitty and cold and yours isn't and- would you just let me in?!"

Dipper Pines was in no way a fan of people. Particularly people who disliked his sister, as several passing stories of the blonde girl's snubs that Mabel had told him would suggest. He figured, however, that slamming the door in the face of a drunk girl who, for whatever reason, was on the verge of tears was objectively the worst thing he could do in this situation.

"Come in," he sighed.

Pacifica… Dipper wasn't actually quite sure if there was a verb to cover the way she made it into his living room, like she constantly lost her balance in a forward direction, then barely recovered at the last possible second. As a writer, this irked Dipper greatly, so he invented one. She turbled into his living room. It had an assonance with the word tumbled, a good synonym, and sounded vaguely like drunken onomatopoeia. He was so pleased with his creative efforts that he did not notice Pacifica crashing onto his couch.

"This whole place reeks of man stink," she complained.

"Well, I am a man, so there you go."

"Nah, you're more of a poodle. Or a Chihuahua. A poohuahua," Pacifica decided, laughing, as anyone would, at the fact that she secretly said "poo" twice.

Dipper sighed again. This conversation was going to be very one-sided on both parts if he didn't do something. He grabbed some bread from the cabinet, spread some Nutella on it, poured a glass of water, and walked it all over to her. He set it down next to her on the couch, sitting himself down on the ottoman. "Eat it," he commanded.

She stared at the new additions to her line of vision. "I get the bread and water, but why's there Nutella on it?"

"You don't strike me as the kind of person who would willingly eat plain bread."

Pacifica found this insanely hilarious. For fear that she might vomit from such intensive action, Dipper asked her what she thought was so funny. "It's just… is that one of the things you fucking think about when you meet people? Like… you look at somebody and you're like 'Yeah, they'd probably eat bread plain.'"

"Am I wrong?"

"No, but that doesn't make it less funny. Seriously, why even care?"

"I had a character eat a roll once, and I wondered if I should have them put butter on it, but I realized they were the kind of person who would just tear into it, and now it's something I think about."

"Well, your weird writer thing saved you some whining from me," she said, grabbing a piece. "So it was all worth it in the end. It's like that one Disney movie or something."

"You are just positively eidetic when drunk."

"That egg-whatever word better be a compliment," Pacifica warned him.

"It is, but I was using it sarcastically."

Pacifica mulled this over, and went back to eating bread. Whether it was because she didn't take offense to sarcasm, or because she had already forgotten what he said, Dipper didn't know. He simply watched as she finished the bread and mercilessly chugged the water. "Oof, thanks, feel a bit better with a full stomach," she told him, making no visible effort to get off his couch.

"So... do you plan on leaving?" he ventured.

"Let's talk," Pacifica decided.

"What? Why?"

"Because I want to," she responded, like it was the most logical answer. "And judging by the smell in here, I'm like, your first human interaction ever."

"I met with all of you literally a week ago."

Pacifica snorted. "Sure, if you count getting dragged around by your sister as-" Her eyes lit up, as if she had just discovered her purpose in life. "Let's talk about how much I hate your sister!"

"Umm… I feel like I should reject that topic on principle," Dipper remarked, somewhat uncomfortable with dealing with other people's relations.

Pacifica waved her hand, dismissing his dismissal. "It's her fault, anyway. Wanna know why? Because sweaters. Sweaters are fucking gross. I'm not talking about hoodies, or sweatshirts, or fluffy jackets, or even those sort of robe-like sweaters, but actual, bulky sweaters with designs on them. They look dumb, and the only people who were them are either above the age of 60 or losers. But you wanna know who got a whole line of them approved? Your stupid sister," she ranted, glaring at him, apparently just now realizing that he was in cahoots with her sworn enemy.

"This sounds a lot like you're just jealous of of a more successful girl. Like that one Disney movie."

Pacifica, if possible, glared harder. "Name one person who you know that wears sweaters. Aside from your sister. You can't! Because nobody wears sweaters! There's literally no market for high-brand fashion there! But your sister somehow got allowed to waste company money because she's so cute, and charming, and considerate, and golly gee whiz just the sweetest person on the planet."

"I'll be the first to admit my sister doesn't really have too much awareness on how the rest of the world thinks," Dipper agreed. "However, in her defense, getting people to like you is just as important as anything else in the professional world, and that's how she's gotten that far. You are essentially bashing my sister for just being a good person and trying her best."

Pacifica considered this for a moment. "You know what, I totally am. Fuck good people. They're fucking dumb. They get to do whatever they want, just because they genuinely care about other people. Fucking dumb. I work hard, I studied a lot, I did everything right, and suddenly, I'm getting ignored just because I'm not lovable? It's fucking dumb. Disney movies are fucking dumb. Underdogs are fucking dumb," she ranted, positively convinced of the necessity to inform her listener of just how fucking dumb it all was.

"Well, I know that feeling," he remarked grimly.

"Oh my god, are you going to bitch about your sister with me?" Pacifica asked, voice hopeful. "Because I really want you to bitch about your sister with me."

Dipper sighed for the third time. He could not believe he was doing this, but Pacifica was probably not going to remember what he said right now, and he had been up for over 24 hours so he was probably just as good at decision-making as Pacifica as right now. "I mean, I wouldn't go that far, but it's just, I'm her twin. At no point in the past 26 years have I ever not been compared to her, and, I mean, how am I supposed to compete with that?! Like, in our junior year of high school, she knitted our Gov teacher a sweater because her dog died. Then, for the rest of the year, our teacher always looked at me funny, like I was the weird one for not making her a sweater because her stupid dog died. The thing was like, a Chihuahua or something. Nobody cares when a Chihuahua dies! I'm definitely not the weird one for not making her a sweater!"

"See!" Pacifica pointed out. "It all comes back to the fucking sweaters! They're the root of all our problems! Do you think there's stores still open? I feel like we should buy a sweater and burn it. Yeah, let's do that."

"Ok, seriously, did sweaters murder your parents or something?"

Pacifica snorted. "I'd be wearing them everyday if that happened."

"Oh, wow, yikes. Felt like I just opened another can of worms."

Pacifca held up her hand to his face. "My drunk girl senses are telling me you haven't finished your worm can yet. Continue."

"There's not much else to tell. It's pretty much that story, but like, over and over again. For over two decades. The past two years of which I've had to live in New York City. A city that I hate."

"But it's like, the most magical place on Earth or something."

"That's Disneyland. New York City is the smelliest, loudest, most crowded place on Earth. Much shittier."

"Why do you even live here then?"

"Because my entire family insisted that I live close to Mabel, so that she could have family to rely on. All that's really happened is she occasionally checks up on me and forces me outside."

"Honestly, considering your skin tone, I'm with Mabel on this one."

"Point taken, but do you know what it's like, getting babied by your sister who is the same age as you? I just wish, just once, she stopped caring so much. It would make her so much easier to deal with. I mean, don't get me wrong, I would not be where I am today without her support, but I am here, and I think, y'know, a little room to breathe would be nice."

"Ok see, but you still like her, so you are not on my side right now."

"Well that makes sense. She is my sister, after all."

Pacifica snorted. "Yeah, because family is just so great," she grumbled. "Unconditional love and all that shit. Who cares if they're fucking assholes, right? That's how love works, right? Forgive and forget, forgive and forget, until you fucking break, but it's all worth it for family."

Dipper stayed silent for a while. Pacifica briefly considered the possibility that he had died sitting up when he decided to speak. "I really don't think you want to have this conversation with me, and, more importantly, I really don't want to have this conversation with you, so I'm going to go ahead and change the subject. What's your favorite Disney movie?"

Pacifica burst out laughing, even harder than the first time. Dipper was almost positive she was having a fit. "You," she gasped. "Are fucking hilarious."

And with that, she promptly vomited on his floor.

* * *

 **AN: This might actually be one of my favorite things I've written. Drunk Pacifica and Apathetic Dipper offer a lot of comedy, I think. This is going to be a three-parter, no promises on the expedience of the writing of the second two parts though.**


	6. A Part-time Family

"Whoa, looks like Freak Girl is finally where she belongs."

Wendy Corduroy resisted the urge to slug each and every laughing boy in the face. She was an employee now, so she had to at least be somewhat professional. "Would you like this shirt in a bag?" she asked. "Or should I just shove it up your ass?" Emphasis on the 'somewhat'.

The boys laughed and mockingly backed up. "Careful, boys," the lead one, Terry, said. "Freak Girl's just as violent as her dad."

Just when Wendy was about to reach across the counter and prove Terry satisfyingly right, there was a clatter and Terry and his friends jumped backwards. She looked down at the floor to see a cleaning bucket had spilled. "My bad, dudes," her coworker, Soos, apologized.

"Whatever," Terry scoffed. "Let's go, guys. It ain't safe being here."

Wendy watched Terry leave the Mystery Shack gift shop, friends following aimlessly behind him like the mindless goons they were.

"I remember that kid," Soos recalled. "I had to clean up his barf once. One of Mr. Pines' attractions scared him so bad he hurled all over the floor."

"What?" Wendy asked, lips upturned in laughter. "No way."

"Totally happened, dude," Soos confirmed. "Handyman's honor."

Wendy let herself chuckle for a second before going back to her default mood. "Sure wish the old-timer could pull that again," she lamented. "I'd give anything for blackmail against that jerk."

"Or you could make like the rest of us and suck it up," her boss, Stan, offered, striding through the backdoor. "You're an employee of the Mystery Shack now. Getting into fights with teenagers is bad for business."

"And Old Goldie isn't?" she shot back, gesturing (she refused to look at it) in the direction of the contraption.

"Hey, Old Goldie has been, is, and will continue to be a showstopper, much like yours truly," Stan insisted. "Now, I'm going to go outside and conduct those walle- I mean, tourists, and I expect you two to be on your best behavior when they get in here."

"Yes sir!" Soos saluted.

"Whatever," Wendy grumbled.

Stan fixed Wendy with the stink eye and marched outside. "Ugh, this sucks," Wendy complained. "How do you handle it here, Soos? All day, it's either getting teased about working here, or getting berated for not working here enough."

Soos chuckled. "You'll get used to it, dawg. Mr. Pines has a funny way of showing affection, that's all."

"Affection? He clearly hates me! Seriously, I wish I could just quit." But she couldn't. A single lumberjack could not hope to support four kids without a little help. She was here for as long as possible, but that certainly didn't mean she had to like it.

Soos paused in his cleaning efforts. "Hey, dude, can I show you something real quick?" he asked, in a remarkably pensive tone.

"Uh, sure man, what's up?"

"Follow me."

Wendy left the counter to follow Soos through the "Employee's Only" door. Aside from heading to the kitchen during breaks, Wendy had never really been around Stan's house before. It was kind of odd. Soos lead her through a hallway and to a door. "This is Mr. Pines' room," Soos said. "One time, I was cleaning in here, and I found something amazing."

Soos opened the door and strode in, with Wendy following suit. Oh, it reeked of cologne, cigars, and must. How did he sleep in here? Soos walked over to the dresser and took a book off the top. "Come here, check this out, dude."

Wendy walked over, and saw that Soos was showing her an album. It was a bunch of photos of some brown-haired guy with a different person in each shot. "That's Mr. Pines," Soos clarified.

"What?" Wendy exclaimed. She clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. Did not want to be caught in her boss's room going through his things. "That guy is nowhere near wrinkly enough to be Mr. Pines," she whispered.

"Hey, Mr. Pines isn't bad looking," Soos defended. "But that's not the point. Point is, these pictures are all with Mystery Shack employees on their last day. Here, let's go to the dudes I know."

Soos flipped through the pages as Wendy watched a lifetime go by. Stan changed outfits, demeanors, and got older and older until Soos stopped on the persona that anyone in Gravity Falls could recognize. "This is Mr. Pines with Tony, our old janitor. His dad had a drinking problem and Mr. Pines always gave him a Christmas bonus so he could afford something for his sister." He flipped a page. "This is Mr. Pines with Jessica, she was in a foster home." He pointed to another picture. "Danny was our cashier for a year. His parents were always away on business. And this is-"

"Soos," Wendy interrupted. "There are like, four pages of pictures left. How long have you worked here?"

"Ten years," Soos declared happily. Wendy's eyes widened. Ten years?! Soos had been working here since she was four?!

"So, what I'm getting at here, dude, is that everyone who's worked here, Mr. Pines included, has had a rough time. Mr. Pines really is a big softie. He just wants all us misfits to know that we've got a place we can belong, a part-time family, if you will. We're like the Breakfast Club of business."

Wendy stared at the pictures. The teens and college kids in these photos were all smiling, as if happy they had spent their time here. Would she be like that when she was done here?

"OI, SOOS, WENDY! I'M NOT PAYING YOU MINIMUM WAGE SO YOU CAN SLACK OFF!"

Wendy winced at the shout that came from the gift shop. "C'mon, dude, we should get back. Just think about what I showed you."

Wendy and Soos walked out back into the gift shop. "Where were you two?" Stan demanded.

"Sorry, Mr. Pines," Soos apologized. "I was showing her this cool new thing I did with the Mystery Cart."

Stan grunted. "Just make sure none of these customers have an excuse to not buy something."

Soos saluted and Wendy nodded wordlessly. They both got back to their places, with Wendy's mind stirring. She had never really thought about it, but it was odd that she had been hired. The Mystery Shack was far in a way Gravity Fall's most famous business. She was sure she couldn't have been the only applicant for the job. She had no experience, had a history of aggression in school, and didn't really have any marketable skills, but Stan had hired her anyway. In fact, he had been the only person in Gravity Falls to hire her.

When the customer flow died down, and it was almost closing time, she decided to ask the question. "Mr. Pines?"

Stan looked up from the shelf he was stocking. "Yeah, what do you want?"

"Why did you hire me?"

Stan looked back down at the inventory, and stared at it silently for a moment. "Everyone deserves a chance to prove that they're more than what everyone says they are," he said finally. "Freaky lumberjack girls and con-men alike."

Wendy blinked in surprise. No one aside from her family and Tambry had ever given her a willing chance before. "Thanks," Wendy responded, smiling.

"If you really wanted to thank me, you'd stock these shelves for me. My back is killing me."

"You should probably just get one of those orthopedic pillows," Wendy advised. "Because you're not getting any younger, and I'm not getting more helpful."

"Haha, don't make me cut your pay."

"You pay me minimum wage," Wendy reminded him. "Cutting my pay is illegal."

"Oh yeah, because _that's_ stopped me before."

Wendy laughed. So maybe she could get used to her new workplace after all.

* * *

"I'm really sorry for going into your room like that, Mr. Pines."

Stan sighed and put the money he had been counting down. "Soos, for the millionth time, you do not have to apologize for things that I tell you to do."

"I know, but, still, sir, it's one of your golden rules!"

"It's fine, Soos, really," Stan placated. Honestly, his right-hand man had a backbone as small as his heart was big. He'd have to work on that.

"But Mr. Pines, sir, wouldn't it be better if it was you who showed the new employees the album?"

Stan slammed the cashier shut. "Like I've said, Soos, I'm their boss, not their friend. That's your job. Speaking of jobs, I expect this floor to be spotless before you leave."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Soos saluted, as Stan retreated to his living room. When he was gone, Soos started mopping the floor, humming a happy tune to himself. His part-time family had grown again today.


	7. The Art of Showmanship

Melody personally thought she was living the dream. A steady job, living with her boyfriend in a house that had already long since been paid off, really, all things considered, she was positively winning at life. Which why she was very surprised when, a week into her new life, Soos called an "all-employe meeting". "We need to improve our game and fast," Soos announced.

"What? Why?" Melody asked. "Wendy told me that the Mystery Shack has always had this many customers. We're doing pretty steady."

"Exactly. We're doing steady," Soos said. "My impassioned speech at Dipper and Mabel's birthday was to inspire the masses, move them to understand the glory of this sanctuary, but we haven't gotten anything more than, y'know, normal. And normal is not what we do here."

"Well, what do you think the problem is?" Melody asked.

"The problems is us, dudes," Soos told her. "Our act is totally out of order."

Melody looked to Wendy for some explanation, but Wendy simply nodded in confirmation. "Mr. Mystery is no longer the snazzy, handsome devil he once was," Soos declared. "Let's face it, now he's a pudgy guy with a half-beard. I am not rocking this suit and bow tie."

"You're not… not rocking it, sweetie," Melody comforted him. "I'm sure everyone will get used to it."

Soos shook his head. "I may be Mr. Mystery, but I am no Mr. Pines. We're going to have to overhaul the entire act if we want to win back the crowds."

"What is this 'act', exactly?" Melody asked.

"Mr. Pines was the jaded mystery researcher, I was the lazy part-timer, and Soos was the bumbling, but capable handyman," Wendy clarified. "The crowds ate up our constant back-and-forth with each other."

"Wait, that's an act?" Melody asked, looking between them surprised.

"Kind of," Soos said. "Mr. Pines just had us play up certain parts of our personality, y'know, keep things interesting for the people. It's like he always said..."

"The show never stops until the last souvenir is bought," Soos and Wendy recited.

"With that in mind," Soos continued, grapping some papers off the counter. "I've got a few ideas I want to run by you guys. Question-y the Question Mark was a dud, but these are more character than mascot."

Melody wordlessly took the papers she was handed, too shocked to respond. She had sort of assumed the Mystery Shack had just been a place where the staff made up a bunch of nonsense mysteries, got a cheap laugh, and everyone got paid. That clearly wasn't the case. There had been a decided theatrical dynamic, something she had never considered.

She looked down at the sketches. Mr. Mystery would be replaced by one of his loyal creatures (Soos in a weird animal costume), she would be a sort of Belle character (Seeing the beauty in the beast) and Wendy would play it all off like she worked for a perfectly normal person. The next page was Dr. Mystery, Mr. Mystery's twin, a wanna-be villain who tried to be evil (Soos drew himself in a cloak and fake mustache), but was too nice. She would his girlfriend, who constantly reassured him about how evil he was, and Wendy would be the apathetic part-timer who sardonically observed how Soos could be doing much eviler things. The third idea cast Mr. Mystery as an intrepid, yet still bumbling explorer, who gathered all of his findings at the Mystery Shack (Soos in safari gear). She would be the girlfriend who regularly went along with him on adventures to make sure he didn't forget anything or screw up, and Wendy would be the veteran, wise-beyond-their-years janitor who had been working for Mr. Mystery "longer than they could recall." The only common element was that Soos was wearing the fez in each one. It was the symbol of the Mystery Shack, after all.

"I like this last one," Wendy decided. "Not too far off from Mr. Pines' way of handling tours, not really a major theme change. I mean, you know, sucks to be officially relegated to janitor, but with Melody on cashier duty, not much else for me to earn my keep. Plus, I get to be all cool and cryptic. And, you get to keep your half-beard. Everyone wins."

"That half-beard thing was kind of one of the highlights of that one for me," Soos admitted. "Melody, what do you think?"

Melody looked up at her boyfriend. "Do you really think we need to change all this?" she asked. "I mean, Mr. Pines seemed to have the ideal situation going, shouldn't we just stick with that?"

Soos shook his head. "Mr. Pines ran this place for 30 years. He was charismatic and charming in his own way, a way I can't replicate. I can't let Mr. Mystery become an echo of his past self. We have to keep him as strong and memorable as ever. The Soos era of Mr. Mystery!" he declared, panning his arms out at the imaginary title.

"Then, yeah, let's go for it," Melody said, still slightly bewildered.

The smile fell off of Soos' face a little. "Dude, Melody, are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine it's just, I'm surprised. I've always kind of, coasted through life, and I thought this would be the same," Melody confessed. "But you, you're so passionate about this place, Soos. I'm just, I dunno, I feel like a fish out of water, I guess."

Soos considered this. He stood there thinking of what to say, for a second. Then, he went over to the clothing rack and tossed her a shirt. "Welcome to the Mystery Shack, Melody," Soos congratulated. "I get that you aren't too crazy about it right now, but you don't have to be. Showmanship isn't about being better or flashier or making sure everything is perfect, but providing something more, in your own special way."

"Yeah, if it was about being good and passionate," Wendy added, gesturing to the room at large. "You think this crummy place would still be going after all these years?"

Melody smiled. "Thank you guys. And uh, Soos, I know you were going for a big theatrical thing, and I appreciate that, but uhm, I'm already wearing this shirt," she pointed out.

Soos snapped his fingers. "See, that's exactly the kind of kind-hearted correction that Mr. Mystery's girlfriend would make for him! You've already got it down!"

The team laughed at that, and Wendy elbowed Melody. "And don't worry about the passion too much," Wendy said, winking. "It might seem impossible at first, but there's no one who hasn't fallen in love with the place, trust me."

Soos gasped and pointed at Wendy. "And that's exactly the kind of veteran, wise-beyond-their-years wisdom that I'm talking about! Dudes, I think we're already nailing this!" Soos cheered. "Oh, I'm gonna go into town and see if any of the shops are selling safari gear! The Mystery Shack is back! WOO!"

Melody watched in amusement as her boyfriend excitedly ran out of the room to the porch where his truck was. She smiled and got up, placing the thrown T-shirt back to where it was on the rack. This was her job, now, something only she could do. And she silently pledged to do it until the last souvenir was sold.


End file.
